


Aren't You Tired of Me Yet?

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Drarry, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 12:25:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	Aren't You Tired of Me Yet?

“Happy anniversary!” Harry walks through the door with chinese takeout, because it’s Draco’s favorite. He’s willing to bet anything that the maids who have to clean the penthouse suite once a month hate them, because getting a room to stop smelling like lo mein and fried rice is nearly impossible. He knows, he’s tried.

Draco yawns and turns off the TV when Harry walks in. “You’re late,” he says, glancing at the clock. They’d specified 6:00. Its 6:07. Harry laughs, throws the food on the table, and starts flipping through the CDs he brought.

“I can’t believe you still make CDs. It’s 2012,” Draco mumbles, grabbing his part of the order out of the bag. Harry laughs again, and picks a CD - Ron Pope. By the time he puts it into the (very expensive) stereo system, Draco’s back on the leather couch. He turns the big screen back on, and finds a gory movie.

Harry leans over the back of the couch and mutes the TV. When Draco tries to grab it back, Harry hits play on the stereo remote instead.

_“A drop in the ocean, a change in the weather. I was praying that you and me might end up together. It’s like wishing for rain as I stand in the desert. But I’m holding you closer than most, ‘cause you are my heaven.”_

That gets Draco to smile. Only a little bit. But enough for Harry to roll over the back of the couch, grab Draco’s face, and kiss him slowly. It transitioned quickly from gentle, deep kisses, to quick and hungry ones. Draco is impatient, in everything he does. But especially with Harry. He picks him up and carries him to the bedroom, gory movie forgotten, chinese food getting cold.

As soon as Draco puts him down, Harry turns the lights on. Draco promptly turns them back off. So Harry sets them to dim, like every time. They don’t agree on much, so they’ve learned to compromise. Draco rips Harry’s t-shirt off from behind while putting his wallet and keys on the bedside table. He responds by shoving Draco onto the bed, and pulling his pants off in one smooth motion. Dress pants are very easy to remove.

Harrys smiling like he just won the lottery, and Draco is scowling. Typical. Draco slides off the bed onto his knees, and, not to be outdone, unbuttons Harry’s jeans with his teeth (which makes Harry giggle) and pulls them to the floor.

Harry takes both of Draco’s hands and pulls him up, kissing him again. He moves his mouth to his lover’s neck as he slowly unbuttons his shirt. Draco grips the back of Harry’s neck and sighs. Harry makes him let go so he can slip the shirt off. He goes to kiss down Draco’s chest, but something on the corner table catches his eye.

“Draco.”

“Yes?”

“Thank’s for the flowers.”

Draco doesn’t answer, his facial expression doesn’t even change. He just kisses slowly down Harry’s body, removing his boxers as he goes. They turn in unison, so Harry can sit on the bed as Draco kneels between his legs. He takes Harry slowly in his mouth, teasing him with his tongue, refusing to make a tight seal. Harry’s moans are a mix of pleasure and begging.

Draco runs his hands over Harry’s thighs, and removes his mouth completely. Harry groans, and Draco looks up at him. Eye contact. Drive’s Harry crazy, so he puts his hand on Draco’s head and forces his mouth back onto him. Draco let’s Harry dictate how fast he goes, and swirls his tongue at the appropriate moments. When Harry’s breathing gets to heavy that he can’t even get his moans out, Draco pulls away from him slowly. Harry whimpers.

Draco winks at him, and Harry flips their positions, throwing Draco back onto the mattress. His boxer briefs are across the room in a matter of seconds, and Harry is breathing slow, hot, breaths on Draco. He licks him slowly, then blows back down the path he licked. As much as Draco pulls at his neck, moans, or sighs, Harry won’t take him all the way into his mouth. Because he knows the tease drives Draco crazy.

In fact, he can only handle it for a few minutes, before he pulls Harry up onto the bed with him. Then theres no more teasing. They’re rolling around, kissing every inch of skin they can find, struggling for control. Harry bites at Draco’s sensitive spots, making him shiver and arc his back. Draco follows the rules, if he uses his teeth, he nips. Very gently. He finally gets Harry pinned, holding his arms down and kissing his chest. Harry’s moaning, seconds away from begging, when Draco brings his face up and kisses him deeply. He straddles Harry and looks down at him, with an expression that not even Harry can read.

“Aren’t you tired of me yet?” He whispers.

***

A year ago, around 7:00 PM, Harry was sitting on the railing of a bridge, in the snow. He was staring down at the water, and he couldn’t think about anything else. Not his wife, who sitting at home, making tea for her book club. And not his daughter, who was buried in a cemetery a few miles away. What was left of her, at least. They didn’t cross his mind for a second. The only thing his brain had room for was water.

“Nice night, isn’t it?”

Draco didn’t scare Harry, for some reason. He didn’t jump, or gasp, or look back, or move at all.

“The water’s nice,” he answered. Then he did look back. Draco was leaning onto the railing, hands crossed under his chin, looking up Harry. He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t frowning either. Harry looked at him for a minute or two, didn’t say a word, and Draco didn’t look away for a second.

When Harry turned back to the water, Draco took one of his hands and moved it onto Harry’s, who was gripping the railing as tightly as possible.

“Come down,” Draco whispered.

So Harry did. They sat, leaning against the railing in the snow, for hours. Neither of them said anything at first. So Draco started.

“My name’s Draco Malfoy. I like the snow. I have a pet snake. I don’t work, because my parents died when I was young, and left me all their money. And my parents were very rich. I’m 26. I like horror movies. I don’t know how to swim. And I love Ron Pope.”

Harry stared at him like he was insane. But Draco just looked back, waiting, like it was perfectly normal to ramble off random facts about one’s self to a stranger who’s life you’ve just saved. At some point, Harry decided that none of this was normal anyway. So it didn’t matter.

“I’m Harry Potter. I’m 27. My wife’s name is Ginny, and she’s very nice, but she’s too perfect. We had a daughter, and she was hit by a car 7 months ago. Ginny hasn’t visited her grave. But she runs a book club. I’m a lawyer, and I absolutely hate Ron Pope.”

“Well, Harry, we can’t be friends then,” Draco said, standing up immediately. Harry stared at him like he was crazy, but then he reached out his hands. With Draco’s assistance, Harry stood.

“You really decide who your friend’s are going to be based on musical taste?”

Draco laughed. “No, I decide who’s going to be more than my friend.” He leaned forward, so Harry’s lower back was pressed to the railing, and kissed him gently. Harry didn’t kiss back, and Draco didn’t expect him to. He pulled back, and looked at him, as if he was waiting for a decision. Harry stared at him for a few seconds, trying to figure out what was happening. Then he stopped. He’d spent months trying to figure out what was happening. And it’d gotten him here, to the railing of a bridge, in the snow, about to let go. So he kissed Draco, and it wasn’t gentle at all.

They ended up in the penthouse suite of the nearest ritzy hotel, tangled in the sheets for hours.

***

“No. No, I’m not tired of you.” Harry looks at Draco like he’s just asked for the secret of life. “Why would you ask me that?”

Draco smiles, a real, happy smile. That’s rare. “Just making sure.” So Draco stops thinking about Harry’s wife, and Harry’s daughter, and his job, his friends, his reputation, his terrible taste in music, everything. He just thinks about Harry. And how he’s here, naked, his, and happy to be here. He buries his face in Harry’s neck and kisses it passionately.

Harry doesn’t have to forget about those things. He hardly thinks about those things. Every free second he has, his mind is on Draco. On this suite, and the terrible music he listens to just for Draco. On the chinese food they never eat and all of Draco’s fancy clothes that end up all over the room, and all the rented movies they never bother to watch. All month, all he wants is to be here. With the man he loves in bed with him.

So he stops Draco from kissing his neck, because that isn’t enough. He forces their lips together, and they kiss hungrily. They’re both impatient tonight. Harry scratches Draco’s back and moans into his mouth, and they naturally rearrange themselves. Draco on his stomach, Harry above him.

Harry reaches into the bedside table, where Draco always puts lube before Harry get’s there. Because Draco is always prepared. For everything.

“Raise your hips,” Harry whispers in Draco’s ear, and he obeys. Harry screws the cap back on the lube and returns it. He kisses the back of Draco’s neck, and holds one of his hands. He straightens up slightly, and uses his other hand to guide himself into Draco.

“Harry,” Draco moans. It’s half pleasure and half pain, like always. He’s biting the pillow, and it turns Harry on so much that he has to stop himself from going crazy. But he doesn’t want to go crazy right now, not really. So he reaches out and places his other hand over Draco’s as well.

Draco is sighing and Harry is grunting lowly into his ear. Disregarding the animal instinct to move as quickly as possible, Harry glides in and out slowly, making Draco gasp with each thrust. He goes slightly faster as he gets closer to coming, and wraps one of his arms underneath Draco to pump him with his hand. Their sighs and moans turn into outright moans. Draco comes a few seconds before Harry does, and in between their climaxes, Harry leans as close to Draco’s ear as possible and whispers “I love you.”

They catch their breath and rearrange themselves, halfway under the sheets, with the comforter somewhere across the room. Draco’s head is resting on Harry’s chest, and they’re both waiting for their hearts to stop pounding before they head to the shower to “clean off.” Draco sighs, and Harry feels his lips turn up into a smile against his skin.

“What are you smiling about?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly, and Harry feels his smile go away. Harry looks down at him, concerned. “I mean... just. I wish this could happen every day.”

He expects Harry to sigh, or look angry. Because they’ve never talked about that. Once a month, no more, no less. It’s the pattern they’ve fallen into, and neither of them has ever talked about breaking the pattern. It’s like an unspoken rule. But Harry doesn’t look angry, OR sigh. Harry smiles.

“We can work on that.”


End file.
